


The Harp

by MoreMischievous



Category: Original Work
Genre: Government, Other, Rebellion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 12:00:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3609330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoreMischievous/pseuds/MoreMischievous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clay Anderson isn't quite like the rest of his community. But in a society with nothing but secrets and myths, who blames him?<br/>When folktales of a mysterious harp is brought into his view at childhood, he thinks of it as what he should: A folktale. A myth. But with age comes reason, and soon enough it's hard to deny that it is much more than a simple story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Harp

**Author's Note:**

> This is a finished piece but updates are possible. I'm never quite satisfied with my works. Let my booty know what you think! Rating and relationships will most likely change as the story progresses.

There are many stories of this “magical harp” that have lasted in my town throughout the years. Being how old I am, I think it’s safe to say that I’ve heard them all by now. The classic “Harp is an ancient god that lives in the forest,” or, “the Harp is a mysterious instrument that exists somewhere on a distant island.” And there are a lot more than that, trust me. The majority of people consider them all complete myths, nothing more than stories. But I see just a bit more than the average person, I guess. I want to know if this harp, whatever it is, lives and breathes. And what most people fail to realize about the myth is, even if it’s false or fake, the government has something against it. They want it to be left alone, or maybe even make sure it stays ‘just a story’. With such a limited knowledge beyond the mix, I’ve always been curious as to what else the Harp has to offer.  


~~~

  


Clay Anderson  


  


“Excuse me, sir. Please move along.”  


“Oh, yeah. Sorry I . . my body is here but my mind isn’t, you know?” I just realized I’ve spent the last 10 minutes staring at a crack in the ground.  


“Move along sir.”  


I look up and around the room. Everything looks so clean. Almost too clean. But I guess it’s what I should expect being in the District Doctors Office. Yep. I’ve been standing in line for hours now waiting for a yearly shot. Normally, I would have been in and out of this place in a matter of a few minutes, but the lines in this place are just enormous. I’ve heard the system’s been off this year. Along with the history that the whole shot thing hasn’t taken this long to get through since before I was born, so I’m guessing this is a bad sign.  


Rumor has it that the last time a knick got into the works of things, our district was on lockdown for weeks. The fact that one thing can affect our whole system is just odd. Well, the government here in general is odd. For starters, our city as one big society is split up, walls and everything. Four different sections for four different social classes. And no one but the top class can travel from area to area as they please. My mom once told me it’s just the way the government keeps us all under control. The younger me would have just nodded and smiled in agreement. But now, even though I’ve tried my best to agree with her, because that’s what any normal child would do, I can’t help but think as to why? Why do we need to be controlled to such an extent?  


“Arm or leg, Mr.Anderson?” The nurse gave me an impatient look. She held a syringe filled with the mysterious blue liquid I see year after year.  


“Arm, please,” I politely respond, words processing faster than my thoughts. Somehow my mind trailing off has kept me busy until now. I blankly stare while she searches for the required items.  


I lift my arm and the nurse swiftly inserts the needle into the vein she sees first. I pinch my eyes from the slight pain, and she continues to slowly empty the liquid into my body. After about 10 seconds I’m pushed aside and given a bandage to cover the microscopic wound the syringe left behind. I’m lead to the exit along with a few others, doctors stand by the doors and check once again to ensure we have indeed had our shots. With simple proof, we are set free to enjoy the rest of the evening  


After I leave the office I decide right of the bat to head home. The injection tends to have a side effect of temporary dizziness, or memory loss if you’re ‘lucky enough’. So going back to homebase seems like the best option before anything really kicks in. Wouldn’t want to wake up on the street after all.  


I begin to leisurely walk in the direction my house presides. Looking around, it’s hard not to notice the massive amount of government advertisements. It’s almost like they’re overdoing the whole trying to get on our good side thing. The lit posters stack up to the skyline, drowning out any chance of spotting a star. And all of them involve a slogan revolving around how they just want their citizens to ‘remember that everything they do is for our safety’. But the mass assemblage of signs doesn’t follow you everywhere. On the outskirts of town, where the majority of us live, you can easily see the sky above, and it never fails to take your breath away.  


“I’m sure the government’s happy about that,” I sarcastically mumble to myself with a slight smile, and continue to laugh at my own smart-alec remark.  


In the midst of enjoying myself I overhear a conversation about what I thought was the Harp of Legend. I almost immediately stop in my tracks and nonchalantly sit down on a bench near by to hear more without raising any suspicion. I quickly make myself look upset to play the teenager card and tune my hearing onto the conversation.  


“I know this government hiccup has something to do with that damn harp! That’s what happened the last time. I swear I am leaving this place if we get shut down again!” one of the women in the group states.  


“Well, that man had gotten outside the walls to find it, so you can’t really be upset about how the president reacted. On top of that, he was a lower class man! I know he isn’t the problem this time, I know he’d been killed, haven’t seen his face since,” adds another, raising her voice a bit more, making it obvious of the topic they’re talking about.  


The woman goes to continue her thought just before community police, or the watchmen as I call them, approach the group of ladies. One of the uniformed men asks them to pull out their citizen cards with striking amounts of intimidation.  


Oh, the Citizen cards. Diamonds in the rough, and the perfect way to keep people under control. These cards are like a strike system. Once you get soo many marks on it, you have to report to the head court. There, they decide what your penalty is.  


Oddly enough, talking about the Harp in public is a big offense, people usually get four to five marks, the equivalent of robbing a bank or even attempted murder. So, apparently, speaking of a ‘might be fairytale’ is the same as trying to steal the towns money supply. Spectacular judgement. But that just adds to my suspicion. this Harp really sparks my interest. And not only the Harp at this point, but the man those ladies mentioned just a bit ago. Why didn’t anyone tell me about him before? Is he just as much of a taboo to talk about? I mean leaving the city is what I, what most people, would consider impossible. A dream beyond compare. But I can't help but wonder a bit.  


Did he risk his life to find it? What happened to him?  


I pull out my spare notebook and pen to jot down some of the things I want to know, and in a way document what happened today. Life here is not what you would expect, after all. I push the end of the pen down on my notebook so the opposite side’s point disappears into it, and slid both objects back into my pocket. Standing up, I stretch and once again travel home  


  


~~~

  


  


I leisurely walk in the front door and slip my boots off, coat soon following. I step from the front entrance and push my feet into the soft carpet of the front room. As I look around, I take in the blueish hue due to the lamps, and the overall tranquil feel to it. I sigh and wait for any movement or sound, but I could only hear the slight echo of creaking under my feet.  
“I’m back,” I announce, hoping for a response.  


“Oh! How was it dear?” my mom calls out, “And what took you so long?”  


“Just a long line this year.” I state as I walk into the kitchen, finding mom pulling out vegetables and uncooked beef for dinner.  


She gives me a quick glance and smile before returning to her work.  


“And did you pick up your government application?” she adds to the silence while taking beginning to slice the items on the counter.  
“I did that yesterday, if you don’t recall,” I say sarcastically, only to get ‘the look’ from her. “Don’t worry mom, I’m working on it. I have this year to finish anyways, right? Graduating early gives me an advantage.”  


My family is in the upper middle class. And being here means when you’re between the ages of 16 or 18, you have to apply for a government exam. Failing to do so can end up in you not being able to move up the social ladder, or even having to leave the class you’re in.  


  


“Just making sure my son is prepared, is all. I’ve heard too many stories of kids slacking off and ending up in a position that no one would want to be in. I want you safe.” She smiles down at the plate of food now finely cut to her liking.  


“I know you do,” I place my hand on her shoulder and give her a sincere look, “I’m a man now, right? I can handle this on my own.”  


“ I know you can dear.”  


She kisses me on the forehead before I head up to my room and turn my computer on, sliding my rolly chair up next to the monitor. I pull out my notepad that was wrinkling in my pocket and set it next to my keyboard. While the browser opens I look over my writing from earlier. The restriction notice pops up when everything's said and done, the same old scary pop up that I should be afraid of. It reads that I need to know that everything I search can be recorded by the government. I click OK and continue my normal browser searching. I don’t think that they even know how to do something like that. Seems more like a scare tactic for us to ‘behave’. I sit in front of the screen for the rest of the night, looking into the sketched out ideas written on the crumpled notepad, only stepping away once for our family meal.


End file.
